


crazy all my life

by torigates



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies RPF
Genre: F/M, Friends With Benefits, Phone Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-10 23:54:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/791627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/torigates/pseuds/torigates
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Maybe your hair is a metaphor. Because Natasha is all out of wack over Bucky being back from the dead and maybe evil and maybe not evil so...” the trailed off, probably sensing the look of sheer incredulousness on her face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	crazy all my life

**Author's Note:**

  * For [myrifique](https://archiveofourown.org/users/myrifique/gifts).



Scarlett sat in her chair off to the side of set waiting for the sound crew to finish setting up for the next scene. Jennifer and Elaine, her hair and makeup team were checking her over, and Scarlett did her best not not glare at them. 

It wasn’t their fault she looked like a drowned rat. (Well. She supposed it _was_ , since they were the ones in charge of how she looked, but they were just doing their job. Anthony and Joe had sat her down and talked about how Natasha’s straight hair blah blah blah. All it meant was the Scarlett looked like shit.) 

“Why so glum, sugarplum?” 

She looked up to see Evans standing next to her. Jenny and Elaine had thankfully scurried off before he showed up. Bless his heart, but Scarlett just couldn’t stomach them cooing over Evans and listening to his flirting while she looked like... ugh. She was so angry she couldn’t even come up with a good simile for how terrible she looked. 

Scarlett was more than confident in her hotness, _thanks_ , but she was only human, and it didn’t help when she spent most of her working hours standing next to Evans, or Seb, or Mackie. Unnaturally beautiful jerks, the lot of them. 

“I look like shit,” she answered, scowling. 

Chris just gave her a look. “What are you talking about?” he asked. “You’re beautiful.”

And Scarlett just--couldn’t with him and his earnestness. He probably meant it too, the fucker. 

“No I don’t,” she said. “I look terrible.” She held her hair up and then let it drop limply around her face. She’s been in the business long enough to know better than to touch her face or her hair after she’s been worked on, but _seriously_ nothing she did now was going to make it worse. She almost wanted to muss it up, just to give her hair some freaking volume. 

“I miss the curls,” she said, and tried to keep the whine out of her voice. She wasn’t very successful. 

Chris opened his mouth--probably to launch into another frustratingly ernest tirade about how beautiful she is inside _and_ out--but Scarlett just raised her hand. She didn’t want to hear it. 

Chris shrugged, and she hated that about him too. He was just so, so--she didn’t know. So _Chris_. It wasn’t fair that someone could be so beautiful and good at the same time. 

It really wasn’t. 

 

-

 

“Maybe it’s a metaphor,” Chris said when Scarlett picked up her phone. 

She had just made it home from an _insanely_ long day of filming and she really wasn’t in the mood to listen to Evans wax poetical about... whatever it was he was talking about. 

“...what?” she asked after a beat of silence. 

“Your hair,” he said. 

Scarlett literally took the phone away from her ear to stare at it for a long second before bringing it back to her face. “What?” she asked again.

“Maybe your hair is a metaphor. Because Natasha is all out of wack over Bucky being back from the dead and maybe evil and maybe not evil so...” the trailed off, probably sensing the look of sheer incredulousness on her face. 

“Or not,” he said after another moment of silence from her. 

Scarlett wanted to reach through the phone and strangle his handsome neck. It wasn’t fair that someone who looked like a beefy jock could also bust out words like “metaphor” and “dichotomy” in one breath and then make a joke at his own expense, or say something completely sweet and earnest in the next. 

All Scarlett was saying was that she understood why every reporter, photographer, or makeup artist he seemed to encounter was bending over backwards to offer her panties on a silver plate. 

“Scarlett?” he asked when she still didn’t say anything. 

“Yeah,” she said, and cleared her throat. “I mean, yeah. That’s what Anthony and Joe were saying at least.” 

“There you go,” he said, and she could hear his smile. Practically _feel_ the way it pressed against the mouthpiece of his phone. God, his fucking smile. 

“Fuck you,” she said. “I don’t like looking awful.” 

“Babe,” he said seriously. “You could not look awful if you tried.” 

That was a damn lie, but she appreciated the sentiment nonetheless. 

 

\- 

 

Sometimes she found it hard to believe that they’ve known each other for going on ten years. Found it harder to believe that from an MTV Movie production two of them were a part of the highest grossing box office of all time. 

Sometimes she just thought _highest grossing box office of all time_ and had to sit down for a minute. She didn’t think there was anything wrong with that. Plus she knew for a fact that Chris still sometimes woke up in a cold sweat over his decision to be Captain America, and that Hemsworth’s mind was blown on a pretty near constant basis. (She didn’t think anything phased Ruffalo or Robert, or Sam Jackson--he was Sam Jackson for god’s sake--and who the hell knew what went through Hiddleston’s mind.)

_Anyway._

The point was, she and Evans had known each other for a long time. Had been friends for most of it, and they had spent a lot of time together while working on _The Perfect Score_. They all had, really, her, Chris, Bryan, Erika, Leo, and Darius, and formed the quick and easy bonds that young people do. It was almost like being in high school again, or maybe college, all of them on set, drinking, hardly sleeping, fucking each other. 

She hadn’t slept with Chris--not then, in any case. They fell into their roles easily enough, and Bryan was more than willing to go down on her for hours between takes or when they were done for the night. Scarlett remembers it fondly, even though the entire thing had been a hot mess. 

They all swore they would keep in touch, and of course none of them did. Not really. She got a card at Christmas from Erika sometimes, and was on easy enough terms with Bryan, they got together for a drink once or twice a year, and Scarlett will let herself fantasize about sitting on his face again. She’d let him once or twice. 

It was different with Chris.

 

\- 

 

Robert called them opening weekend of _Iron Man 3_. There was so much noise in the background, she figured he must be out somewhere at a party celebrating. 

She couldn’t blame him, second largest debut of all time was nothing to sneeze at. Second only to _The Avengers_ , which--how was this her life? 

“You’ve got a lot to live up to, Evans,” Robert shouted over the deafening sounds in the background. “Not sure how you’re going to top it, really. Scratch that, I _know_ you’re not going to top it.” He cackled easily. 

“Hey now,” Chris said laughing, easy. “I only need to top _Iron Man 2_ , which’ll be a walk in the park. No offense, Scar,” he added. 

She rolled her eyes. 

“Don’t you have a wife and young son to go home to?” she asked instead. 

Robert only laughed before the line went dead. 

They were still on set, it figured Robert was out partying while they were stuck working. Chris sat next to her in his chair and she watched him laugh and joke, but the crease between his eyes got deeper and deeper as the night went on. 

She put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed. 

Finally, when they let them go for the night, Scarlett follows him out. “Do you need to talk?” she asked. “Do you need to call your therapist?” 

He scowled at her for a couple seconds. “Maybe,” he finally admitted. 

She felt a little shitty leaving him on his own, but he was a grown ass man, and if he couldn’t handle his own self-care than there was nothing she could do for him. 

“Okay,” she said. “Well do what you gotta do.” 

He waived as he left. 

 

-

 

“What’re you wearing?” she asked when he picked up the phone. 

It was two days later and Chris had been quiet and withdrawn. _More_ quiet and withdrawn. She still didn’t really understand how he could go from handsome, outgoing, jock, to quiet, shy, artist in the blink of an eye, but it was seriously one of the things she loved most about him. 

“I can hear you rolling your eyes, Evans,” she said when silence greeted her. “Answer the damn question.” 

He hummed. “I’m trying to decide whether to tell the truth, or lie and say something sexy.” 

“The truth is sexy, Chris,” she said, and settled more comfortably into her pillows. She had gotten into bed twenty minutes ago, and when her porn and vibe weren’t doing anything for her, she decided to pick up the phone. 

He barked out a laugh. “Well shit, Scar, you asked for it.” 

Another beat of silence. 

“Boxers and a Red Sox t-shirt,” he said. 

She tried to laugh, but it sounded forced. He was so predictable, and yet there was something about that good ol’ boys Boston mentality he had that seemed to get all the girls--herself included--wet. She could imagine him in his own bed watching a movie or reading a book spread out on top of the covers, his strong legs bare and his shoulders stretching the limits of the worn fabric of his shirt. 

“I told you it wasn’t sexy,” he said when she was quiet for a fraction too long. Scarlett felt her cheeks heating up, and thanked any god who was listening that he wasn’t actually around to catch her daydreaming about his shoulders. 

“Yes,” she said, and tried to put as much boredom as she could into her voice. “You warned me.” 

He chuckled. “What’re you wearing?” he asked. 

His voice was---mmm, fuck--it was just a nice voice. Deep and melodic and it had a really manly timber that Scarlett sometimes swore she could feel reverberate through her entire being. 

“T-shirt,” she said, and burrowed a bit deeper underneath her blankets. “Panties.” 

Chris made a soft noise under his breath. This was something they did sometimes, either when they were on set together, or between films, and she just really, _really_ liked listening to his voice.

“What’s up with you?” she asked, stalling. “Are you going to be able to pull your head out of your ass?” 

Chris laughed a bit, and it sounded less strained than she had heard him over the last few days. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I am. You know how I get, and with the whole Iron Man 3 thing, I just went inside my head for a bit.” 

“You done?” she asked, genuinely concerned. 

“Yeah,” he said. She could picture him nodding definitively. “Yeah. I’m good. For now.” 

“For now,” she agreed, easily. 

They sat in companionable silence for several long moments, listening to each other breathe. Or, Scarlett was listening to Chris, she wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing. 

“So,” he said.

“Talk to me,” she said, and she swore the shape of his grin had a sound she could hear. 

He groaned a little, deep in his throat. “I wanna put my face between your legs,” he said. “Fuck yeah, I want that.” 

Her breath hitches slightly. 

“You taste fucking delicious,” he continued. “So good.” 

Scarlett felt a familiar swoop of arousal in her gut. She palmed her breast, and slipped one hand between her legs. Over her panties--for now. 

“I love it,” Chris continued without prompting. “I love the way you taste, smell. The sounds you make. You feel so good, Scar.” 

She let out a soft moan. It was heady, all his intensity directed at her. Scarlett swore she could get high off just that. 

“Do you like it?” he asked. “Tell me you like it.” 

She rubbed herself a bit harder at the note of command in his voice. “Yeah,” she said. “Yeah, I like it.” 

“Tell me what you like,” he said.

She could hear rustling of fabric, and imagine him settling in, maybe kicking his boxers down his thighs. She pinched her nipples.

“I love your hands,” she said. “Fuck, Evans, I love your hands. I love to sit in your lap and just fuck myself on your fingers.” 

He let out a breathy laugh. “Just my hands?” 

She shrugged, and tried to make her voice nonchalant. Probably failed. Touched herself a little more. “You have a pretty dick.” She pushed the wet fabric of her underwear aside and rubbed a couple quick circles over her clit.

“Pretty?” he asked. She imagine his long, thick fingers stroking over his erection. More than likely flushed red, and leaking precome. 

She hummed in agreement, still touching herself. “So pretty. I’m wet just thinking about it.” 

He choked off a groan. 

“Yeah,” she said. “Oh god, Chris, remember _The Avengers_ after party? In the bathroom?” 

They both moaned. 

“Yeah,” she said again. “You fucked me so good, I could hardly get my dress back on. I think there was probably come stains on the inside. I was so embarrassed returning it after that.”

She could hear the slap of skin on skip over the phone, and his choked off gasps. 

“Chris,” she said. “Talk to me.”

“I wanna fuck you,” he said. 

“You can. Yeah, fuck. You gonna come?” 

He groaned loudly, and she talked him through it, telling him how hot he was, how much she loved to look at him, touch him.

When he came, his breath was harsh and loud in her ear for several long moments before he launched into disgustingly explicit detail what he was going to do to her the next time he got his hands on her. 

She came gasping his name. 

 

-

 

The first time they slept together was after _The Nanny Diaries_ wrap party, both drunk and stumbling into each other’s warmth, high off months of fake flirting and false intimacy. 

It really was rather surprising that there wasn’t and hadn’t been more gossip about them over the years. They’d been friends for close on a decade, and in multiple movies together, but Scarlett hardly ever heard rumours about them fucking. 

As far as she was concerned there were more than her fair share of rumours about who she was fucking. 

Of course when it happened to be true, no one in the press had a clue. 

Chris was an exceedingly private person, and Scarlett preferred to keep a low profile whenever possible. Sure, now they were both part of the highest grossing movie franchise of all time, so their privacy might be a thing of the past, but she knew Chris liked to cling to his anonymity like it was real, and Scarlett didn’t want to be the one to disabuse him of the thought. 

Their fame hadn’t been a problem while they were working on _The Nanny Diaries_. They both did their share of jobs by then--with varying degrees of success--but they had their privacy. Or at least a convincing illusion of it. 

But Scarlett always wanted to be famous. She didn’t suffer from the same kind of anxiety Chris did, thank god. That didn’t mean when some jackoff was chasing her away from a restaurant or whatever the fuck, she didn’t want to scream at the top of her lungs about respect, because she did. 

The point was. 

The point was: none of that was the case in 2007, not really. Scarlett was twenty three years old and dumb, and Chris was _beautiful_.

She wanted all kinds of embarrassing things, then. Wanted to hold his hand, go out, be his girlfriend.

She knew better than to want those things now. In general, but with him particularly.

They were a lot of fun in quick, hot bursts, but she had no real patience, and Chris was all kinds of high maintenance, and ultimately, Scarlett didn’t want someone who required more work than she did. 

That didn’t prevent them from having fun together, and boy, did they have fun.

 

\- 

 

Sebastian Stan was the worst. Just the worst.

He was the kind of beautiful where he knew it and wasn’t afraid to use it, and he delighted in taunting Scarlett with the long history between Natasha and Bucky. 

Scarlett mostly refused to dig too deeply into Natasha’s history aside from the Wikipedia entry and a few comics. She had more than enough experience with so-called fans on the internet being terrible to know that it wouldn’t end well for her. She flat out refused to actively look for the hate she knew was there.

She knew enough about the treatment of women in the media and comics industry in particular than to go looking for more than what was put in front of her (and what was put in front of her wasn’t always nice either). 

All that meant was Seb was a dick who delighted in torturing her, and that Scarlett was not looking forward to sitting on the San Diego Comic Con panel with him. 

Well. There were really a number of reasons she wasn’t looking forward to sitting on the Comic Con panel: 

1\. Seb Stan was a troll of epic proportions.  
2\. She was always asked the most boring questions about diet and clothing. She hoped the fans would be better at asking more exciting and interesting ones, but it wasn’t always a given.   
3\. Other stuff, _okay_ , god. 

“Stop whining,” Chris told her when she relayed all this to him on the plane. 

“Stop whining?” 

He nodded absently. 

“I’m not whining.” 

He shrugged. “Coulda fooled me.” 

She glared at him. “How are you so calm right now? You hate crowds. You hate people. You hate talking to people.” 

He held up a finger. “A) I do not hate people, and B) shut up.” 

Scarlett grumbled under her breath. She knew she should stop complaining, but ugh, she didn’t want to. She was grumpy and cranky, and she just didn’t want to deal with anyone ever again. Ever again.

Chris patted her head when she let out a frustrated groan. 

After a moment he poked her in the shoulder. 

“What?” she asked. 

“Wanna go fool around in the bathroom?” he asked, a wicked glint in his eye. 

She glared at him, and didn’t say anything. 

When she got out of her seat twenty minutes later, he followed her. 

 

\- 

 

The Con was actually not terrible, but after three days of endless on the go publicity, meeting fans, showing up at events, interviews, the works, Scarlett was _exhausted_. Beyond exhausted. So tired she never wanted to move again, exhausted.

Scarlett loved her job. She loved doing the work, and she loved meeting the fans, and she loved talking about her roles with fans and the press alike, but right now, she just never wanted to see another person ever again or speak to one or even think about the fact that other people existed. 

Ever. 

Of course, that was when the knock on her door came. 

“Fuck,” she cursed under her breath. She didn’t want to get out of bed. She didn’t even want to lift her head or raise her voice to find out who it was. Maybe if she stayed really quiet and really still whoever it was would go away.

“Open the fucking door, Scar!” 

Evans. Fucking Evans. 

She groaned and slowly got to her feet. 

“Ugh, fuck you,” she said when she opened the door. He only grinned, and pushed past her, walking into the room.

“Why yes,” she said. “Come inside, make yourself at home.” 

He smiled again, and did just that, flopping down on her bed. His feet were dangling over the edge, thank god, because he still had his shoes on. She toppled over, crawling across his body to get to the other side of the bed and probably kneeing him in the kidneys in the process (well, that’s what he got for taking up her space). 

“What do you want?” she asked after several long minutes of silence, the two of them just lying there listening to the other breathe. 

“Nothing,” he said. 

“Awesome,” she said. 

She drifted off at some point, because the next thing Scarlett knew the pale dawn light was sneaking in through the gaps in her curtains. She rolled over and saw it was just past five in the morning, meaning Scarlett had at least six hours of sleep, and more than the last three days combined. 

She smiled. 

Chris was sleeping peacefully next to her. At some point they had both crawled under the covers, but she was still wearing her jeans, so she stepped briefly out of bed and kicked off her pants, and, after a moment shucked her bra as well. 

The next time she opened her eyes, Chris’s body was pressed tight up against her back. He lost most of his clothes in the night, and it was warm and comfortable under the blankets. 

She sighed, stretching a little and turned to face him. Pressed her face into his chest and rubbed her nose back and forth against the soft worn fabric. 

She poked him a little in the gut. “Wake up,” she whispered. 

He grunted, but otherwise didn’t move. She poked him again, and said his name. He stirred, putting a large, warm palm over her mouth.

“Shh,” he said. “Sleep now.” 

She rubbed up against him shamelessly, feeling his morning wood press into her thigh. “Sure about that?” she asked, pulling his hand away from her mouth. 

He groaned, less irritated this time. “Woman,” he said, voice scratchy with sleep. “You don’t fight fair.” 

She sucked two of his fingers into her mouth in retaliation and he surged over her, rolling his hips against hers. 

She gasped around her smile. “Yeah, baby,” she said. “That’s more like it.” 

He bit her collarbone, and she tilted her head back, giving him access. 

There wasn’t much talking, after that. 

 

-

 

“What’s it like on set?” E! Network’s Kristin dos Santos asked. “What’s it like working with Chris Evans?” 

Scarlett barely refrained from rolling her eyes. Another question about the boys, _what_ a surprise. Then she smiled, fond despite herself. “It’s great,” she said. “Chris is great.”

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea if the cast of Captain America: The Winter Soldier will be at the San Diego Comic Con. This is all fake, obviously, but that part especially so.


End file.
